


An Unwanted Companion

by AwkwardAndUncomfortable



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Comedy, F/M, Heart Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:24:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardAndUncomfortable/pseuds/AwkwardAndUncomfortable
Summary: It's not easy when somebody doesn't die on schedule.





	An Unwanted Companion

**Author's Note:**

> Probably slightly strange to disappear for two years and return with an original story, but here we are. Enjoy.

An Unwanted Companion.

“Will you stop that?” I snapped, looking up from my computer, scowl already marring my face.  
Death was sprawled over my single good desk chair, legs spread lazily with his head hanging back, staring at the ceiling and throwing a tennis ball up and catching it easily. He looks up with a scowl, softly passing the ball between his hands.

He quirked an eyebrow at me, the question not said out loud but very much understood. 

“The ball.” I said, annoyance still colouring my tone. His expression doesn’t change. “It makes a noise.” I elaborate, gesturing at the green ball in his hand.  
He lifts his eyebrow in a perfect arch just to annoy me before answering. “Oh.” He drops his head back down to his usual position before throwing the ball back into the air.

The slap of the ball hitting the palm of his hand accompanies the sound of my grinding teeth.

***

I pulled at my tie, loosening the silk noose before carding my fingers through my hair in irritation. Kate’s perched on the sofa, swirling her wine around in its glass like she has any idea what she’s doing. I’m sat opposite her, nestled in comfortably among the old cushions that she hates. 

“This sofa would be almost bearable if you just got rid of the ratty things!” She would screech at me. I didn’t even like them that much; I was never quite sure why I held onto them. I think it was solely to see that bitter purse of her lips every time she looked at them.

Death is sat down at my dining table, absentmindedly cleaning his fingernails with a silver fork that belonged to my Grandmother. The rest of the silvers were buried in storage at my parents’ house.

“One thing, James.” She sighs, staring into her glass. “One fucking thing I asked you to do.” I nod absentmindedly staring at my Grandmother’s fork as it slides into the grim nails of death. “I don’t expect much from you. In fact, I barely expect anything.” He pulls it out and inspects the prongs slowly. Kate takes a small sip of wine, swirling it around her mouth and making a sticky sound as she sifts through the subtle nuanced tastes. At least that was what she imagined she looked like. In reality she looked like a pretentious fuckwit.

Not that I would ever say that to her.

I see a small fleck of brown on the end of the third prong.

Images of my wrinkled and speckled Grandmother rolling in her grave flash through my mind as he carelessly wipes it against his suit jacket.

“All of my mates have told me to leave you James. They all say I can do better.” I nod, wondering how often he cleans that stupid fucking jacket.

“But I told them that they’re wrong. That you’re a great boyfriend.” I hear her lips smack together as she takes another swig of wine. It appears that she’d given up on appearing cultured.

I lean back into the sofa, staring at Death as he moves onto his index fingernail. This time the prong brings out a small shower of compressed dirt and dust.

My grandmother’s silver is covered in dead skin cells.  
“But I think I was wrong about you. I mean, I’ve been having doubts for a while now, what with you missing Gary’s birthday party and-“

I tune out her rant at the mention of that fucking party. I hated Gary with a passion. The nitwit lived in muscle t-shirts and had all the intelligence of a loaf of bread. The fact that he favoured the nickname ‘pencil dick’ for me didn’t help matters.

I continue staring at Death, willing him to look at me as he moves onto his middle finger, digging in with a priceless family heirloom.

This time he wipes the fork off on his trousers before licking the fork and plunging it back underneath the nail on his ring finger.

I shiver, memories of my mother screaming at me for touching the silver.

“Are you even listening to me?” The blow to my side jerks me out of my thoughts. I look back at Kate and the open palm responsible for my pain returning to its position around her glass. The wine sloshes around, disturbed by her sudden movement.

My arm throbs.

“Yes of course I am.” I say, rubbing the injured spot and glaring at her. “Jesus Kate, that hurt.”

She leans back into the arm of the sofa, her eyebrows drawing together, unrepentant. “Alright then, what did I say?” She splays her fingers and gestures towards me. The movement is fuelled by her knowledge that she’s caught me out.

Which she has.

I should’ve stopped her at her third glass of wine.  
My mouth is opening to make up a ludicrous lie when I’m interrupted.

“You forgot to pick up her mother from the airport.” Death drawls, still at work with that fucking fork except he’s switched hands. “That’s what she’s complaining about.”

I don’t look at him, having perfected how to ignore him months ago. “I forgot to pick your mother up from the airport.” I say triumphantly.

She tilts her head suddenly, eyes narrowing into a squint. “What?” 

“I forgot to pick up your mother,” I repeat dutifully. “That’s why you’re mad.”

Her wine glass hits the coffee table with a ‘clunk’, some of the red liquid spilling over the sides and onto my carpet. I leap to my feet and quickly dart across the room into the kitchenette. I grab a towel and run it under the sink for a second, carefully avoiding the high pile of dirty dishes before darting back to the rapidly growing stain.

When I look up again, she’s on her feet and shrugging on her coat.

“Wait, where are you going?” I ask, looking over at Death who shrugs, dropping the fork onto my table with a clatter.

“Home.” She bites out; aggressively doing up the buttons on her coat, not noticing that she missed one out.

“What? why?” I ask again, hunching over so I can dab at the stain whilst still looking at her.

“Why do you think?” Kate’s finally noticed her mistake, snarling down at her coat before undoing the buttons. I want to tell her to be careful before she pulls one of them loose. I look over at Death but he’s no help, already flipping dismissively through a discarded magazine.

She practically growls at my silence, redoing up her buttons. She misses the same button again.  
“My mother died two fucking years ago.”

Ah.

I remember when she told me. 

She cried.

I refrain from telling her about the button.

She lets out an expletive or five when she looks down at her coat again.

A large gold button hits me square in the nose as she give up and tears her coat open. 

The door slams shut after her, leaving me with a pile of gold buttons, a wine stain and Death.

“You’re ruining my life.” I say, staring down at what was my favourite carpet. I don’t look up but I can feel his shrug.

“Not my fault you’re still alive.”

***

The dull glow from my kitchenette light casts strange shadows over my ceiling, making the whole room sinister.

The dull throbbing in my arm seems to have a heartbeat, slowly getting faster and faster. My vision swims as somebody reaches inside my chest, takes a hold of my heart and just... squeezes.

Then he’s there, staring down at me.

The shadows on my ceiling blur with the edges of his face, contorting the smile that I know is resting on his face.

Suddenly he’s too close, his icy breath fanning over my face. The sudden coldness makes me realise how hot I am and how much I’m sweating.

All of a sudden my clothes are stifling, sticking to my skin and choking me.

“What’s happening?” I wheeze.

“You’re having a heart attack.” He stretches his arm out, his sleeve pulling down to reveal his watch. “You should enter cardiac arrest any second now.”

I find it hard to care that much, focusing too much on the gruelling nausea rolling through my stomach. I curl up on my side, muscles screaming much louder than his voice. His Italian loafers hover inches from my face.

“Don’t worry James. I can finally leave you alone.”  
My vision blurs again, dark spots appearing at the edge of his ridiculous shoes.

“I’ve been waiting for this. You don’t understand what an inconvenience you’ve been. It’s not easy when somebody doesn’t die on schedule.”  
Then the shoes fade from view.

***

The doctor shuffles through the thick file, the papers practically bursting free. He looks up at me and smiles good humouredly.

I don’t smile back.

“I see you’ve been in quite a few accidents.”

I shrug.

He looks nonplussed and continues flipping through my medical history. He stops about a third of the way through and quickly scans a page. He halts and glances up at me before looking back down at the page. He clears his throat loudly before placing the file on his imposing desk.

He attempts to neaten up the edges by pushing the many free papers back into the folder but quickly gives up when he realises how futile the effort is.

He clears his throat one more time before speaking. I notice a small bald patch among his grey hair. The spot reflects the light. “So, I see you had surgery after the crash six months ago?”

I nod.

“And that there were... Complications.” They always pause before the word ‘complications’. It’s a word to encompass fuck ups of all types. Whether it is accidentally killing a patient or using the wrong kind of anaesthetic. 

I nod again.

“You were legally declared dead for a short time before the doctors were able to revive you.”

I nod. “For thirteen minutes.” The thirteen minutes that brought me my unwanted companion.

Death cracks his knuckles behind me.

“And that was due to multiple complications during the surgery to repair your knee cap.” There was that word again. Complications. 

I nod again. I look like a fucking idiot with all this nodding.

“And then you came back to us a month later, with a spinal injury that also required surgery.”

I’m halfway through another nod when I change my mind. “Yes. I fell down the stairs.” 

He smiles awkwardly at me, the movement no longer making his eyes crinkle like they did when I first sat down. “And you’ve also had several concussions over the last several months.”

“I’m very clumsy.” The smile doesn’t reach my eyes.  
I’m also not fucking clumsy.

“And then you had a heart attack two weeks ago,” I give up and succumb to another nod. “Which resulted in you entering cardiac arrest?” The next nod happens without my permission. 

“So you’re quite prone to injury then?” His chuckle is so fake it makes my teeth hurt.

I nod.

He clears his throat again, shuffling my folder. Death clears his throat mockingly behind me. Irritation spikes through me, making my fists clench.

“I guess death is just itching to meet me.” The silence hangs for a second before I grin at him, all teeth. 

He smiles back uneasily.

Death growls.

“That certainly explains this.” He brandishes the file at me, that stupid smile stretching into a smirk. We both just sit there for a good minute, smiling like idiots.  
I send out a silent prayer to an absent God when the doctor finally resumes speaking. 

“Well, when you had the heart attack and went into cardiac arrest, I understand that a delivery man found you?”

Yep. He was delivering a large pepperoni with extra cheese.

The fact that I never got to eat it still stung.

“Yeah, he found me passed out in my kitchen when I didn’t answer. Thank God the door was unlocked.” I laugh again and then immediately hate myself for it.  
He laughs too and I hate him even more.

“The hospital was called and you then went through a long surgery.”

“You spent fourteen hours, twenty three minutes and seven seconds in surgery, exactly.” The doctor doesn’t react to the new voice and I struggle to do the same.  
I feel my back straighten and rise when purposefully loud footsteps sound behind me. They clump across the room, completely lacking the grace and poise that I know he prides himself for.

You wouldn’t think that Death would be such a snob.  
However, all airs and graces are abandoned as he stomps towards me, stopping only when I feel his breath fanning over the top of my head.

“Obviously there were complications,” Fucking complications. “As there always are with any type of surgery, but our brilliant surgeons managed to fight through and save your life.” The doctor blathers on as two ice cold hands land heavily on my shoulders.  
“Aren’t you impressed James?” I jump when he whispers in my ear, face inches from mine. “What brilliant surgeons they must have here.” He repeats sardonically.

I roll my shoulders minutely, trying to throw off his hands without alerting the doctor to his presence.  
“Not for the first time according to these files- Are you okay?” He cuts off mid-sentence to give me a concerned look. His bald spot shines as he tilts his head in sympathy.

I freeze in my position, shoulders slightly hunched as my head is pushed back into my neck. Death’s hands continue to weigh me down.

“I’m fine.” My voice breaks and I die a little inside. I can feel his smirk above me. I straighten up, ignoring everything happening around me and pull at my tie to loosen it. “I’m fine.” I repeat, successfully this time.  
The doctor continues to stare before seemingly catching himself, shaking his head slightly before carrying on. I try to focus, but then Death leans down again.

“I’m rarely so candid James, but I think this situation calls for my honesty.” He matches this with a tight squeeze on my shoulders. “I’ve never detested someone quite like I detest you.” He pushes down, forcing most of his weight onto me. It takes all my strength not to buckle. “In fact, I think I know you well enough to say that I hate you.”

His voice drops to a whisper. “And I really fucking want you to die.” I don’t even notice as the doctor with his ridiculous bald spot is still mumbling on, flipping through the file again.

Everything seems too close, crowding in and making me dizzy.

“Not even because I think you’re a pathetic, servile, snivelling, weak excuse for a human being James,” He lets out a sardonic chuckle. “, which you definitely are. I just want you to die so I never have to listen to you breathe again. My own personal hell is listening to those wheezing lungs wasting their energy on keeping you alive whilst you sleep.”

His voice changes pitch and turns softer, almost charming. “You know this hospital is five stories high James. I bet you could find your way to the roof.” He drawls. At this point I don’t really care whether he’s manipulating me or not. I just want to get out of this claustrophobic office.

I pointedly ignore the flash of a smile on his face as I stumble into the hallway.

***

I don’t know how I made it up here, but the wind is strong, blasting me from all directions. It’s bitterly cold and my teeth are already chattering, even before I make it to the edge.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m on the edge, but it felt right. What’s the point of being this high up if you can’t see the view? The sky is steadily darkening and brief spots of light are twinkling up one by one. If you ignore the filthy streets and people it’s almost beautiful.  
I turn to face him, knowing he had no other option than to follow me up here. 

We had tested it before; he couldn’t be more than ten feet from me at any given time.

“What happens? You know, after.” I shout before my voice is snatched away by the wind. He walks closer, and peers over the edge. As always the wind appears to have no affect on him, suit as perfect as ever. He steps onto the ledge next to me.

“You ask me this every time.” He says, sounding bored.

“And you never give me a straight answer.” 

He shrugs a shoulder at me. “We both know that you don’t actually want to know James. Nobody truly wants the answer to the world’s biggest question.” He always got philosophical before the end.

“Is there a God? Is there a Devil? Is there anything at all?” I say this slowly, without looking at him, watching the sky as the sun slipped below the horizon. The temperature dropped even further.

He doesn’t answer.

When he’s quiet like this it’s almost worse than when he’s talking.

“There has to be something.” I say hopelessly. He shrugs again.

“James. Stop stalling. You’re only wasting both of our time.”

I take a minute step closer to the very edge of the roof.  
“I don’t quite know why we chose this roof, it’s rather dismal.” He says, glancing around us disdainfully. My hands are shaking and numb. The air filling my lungs feels heavy with the cold.

My eyes fix on a lamppost on the street below us. It’s in the middle of a busy intersection but it hasn’t come to life yet. 

I make a promise to myself. If it comes on in one minute, I’ll jump. If it doesn’t, I won’t.

If it doesn’t, I’ll talk to Kate. I’ll treat her better.  
I’ll quit my fucking awful job.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. I pull out two and throw the pack over the edge. I was thinking about quitting anyway.  
I offer one to Death and he accepts with a nod of thanks.

Forty five seconds left.

I’ll eat right and start exercising again.

“You really shouldn’t be cheap with smokes like these James; you can really taste the difference.”

Thirty seconds.

Maybe I’ll write a book. I feel like I have enough material and talent to come out with something half decent.

We light up and I inhale deeply. It’s so cold that my hand is shaking as I bring the fag to my mouth.

Fifteen seconds.

I inhale again and glance at him.

He’s as poised as ever, his suit neat and his hair unruffled.

It’s just me and Death, sharing a cigarette and waiting for the light to come.


End file.
